Harry The Wheelchair Hippie

August, 1972. Friday Shabbat Services.

It was a little Synagogue in North Eastern Queens. One of many in the area.    

The City

He was in a wheelchair. He had been there every week for a month. Every week, he drooled, pathetically, asking her if they could go to the deli together after Saturday morning services and get a bagel. She always laughed and said no. 

She sat with her family in a rear pew. They were making an attempt to try to be more Jewish. Provide some support for the dynamic young rabbi from Las Vegas, of all places. 

It was mostly dull. She read the announcements and the temple calendar. What made it fun was people watching. Who was with who. Who showed up and who didn’t.

The wheelchair hippie, as they called him, would roll behind the last pew and transfer himself into the end seat. And they would talk. He was 29, she was 24. 

He had long black hair, a beard and a moustache. He was an absolute mess. He looked like a very large Rasputin. She couldn’t tell if he was fat or thin. His face was strong, but he wore baggy clothes mostly to hide his diaper, he said. Yuck. In order to speak, he had to unscrew an enormous orthodontic brace on his mouth. 

She liked the hippie, even though he was disgusting. He talked about being in some kind of hospital, rehab he said. Probably a junkie who got hit by a car, her dad said. Her parents hated him. Harry the Hairy hippie, they called him.

She was not married. No boyfriend. She was zaftig. Brown hair, brown eyes. The good men were already snapped up. She worked in the City. Bus, first, then the 7 train during the week. Then weekend services at Temple, where she was inevitably stuck with Harry, the crippled wheelchair bum. Embarrassing. How could she meet a nice young man with this carnival sideshow freak around?

He would ask for her number, while wiping his drool from his mouth. What in the hell happened to him?

He was highly intelligent. He spoke of a girl in Philadelphia who didn’t follow him to Baltimore and broke his heart. Maybe he became a junkie after that? 

Did he fall off a subway platform? Was he hit by a bus? Beaten by dope dealers? Who knows. He knew his prayers though, barely intelligible as they were.  

He rambled on abouthow he missed working out and running. It seemed ludicrous. He spoke about some studies at some University somewhere. It made no sense. He talked about traveling around Asia. 

She would chat about Harry at home. Her parents would chafe. They called him a self-inflicted wound. It was funny.

They were really worried that their daughter would end up with Harry the shitty wheelchair bum? She scoffed in her mind.

Every week at Temple he would hit on her. Tell her she was beautiful. How he missed Jewish girls and their unique beauty. He said he wanted to ask her out, but he could barely walk or talk and he couldn’t drive. Maybe they could go to the deli one morning and get a bagel with lox cream cheese spread. She always brushed him off. 

He spoke about how beautiful she was. Some mystical tripe about dreaming her before he ever met her. He talked about being in some strange land, sleeping under the Southern Cross, and how he imagined a girl just like her.

It was romantic, but annoying. Girls don’t dream of being hit on by Quasimodo.

The end came during Friday services at Kol Nidre. 

He held her hand for just a moment. It was strange, as if he desperately needed some human connection, as if it were a lifeline, and her parents saw him grasp her hand.

After services, outside, her parents confronted him in the dark in the Temple  driveway. 

Her dad was an imposing man, over six feet. He was a dentist. He had been a dentist in World War II and the Korean War. He was proud of his service.  

“Son, I don’t know how you got like this, but you look like shit. You probably were hooked on drugs and you screwed up your life. It’s sad. But from now on find somewhere else to sit. We aren’t your fucking family and my daughter isn’t going to associate with a pathetic hippie bum.”  

Said her dad, pointing his finger as he towered over the crippled hippie.  

“Maybe when you get out of your little rehab, you can repair your life. Move back in with your family.” 

Said her mom.  

She drew back, remembering him saying that he didn’t have a family and he lived alone somewhere upstate in a big empty house that he hadn’t seen in years. Probably a cock and bull story. Junkies were notorious liars.

“I’m sorry. I hope you’ll be OK.”  

She said, avoiding tortuous eye contact.

Harry hung his head. He muttered some apology. Probably long practiced from years of disappointing people.

The rabbi raced over. He looked very hurt. “What is hurtful to yourself, do not do to your fellow human being. That is the entire Torah!”

He shouted at her family.

“Shame on you!”

Yelled at by the Rabbi on Yom Kippur. Not a good scene.

They saw Harry again on Saturday, he sat alone in his wheelchair on the far side of the temple, he avoided eye contact and he turned his head… and then, the next week, he was gone. 

A month went by. Then a couple more weeks. She wondered what happened to him. She rode the 7 train, reading her book. Bored to death, but thinking of the sad, disgusting young man in the wheelchair. 

Veterans Day week, the JWV had their annual to-do where they called up some bored Jewish active duty soldier or officer and recited his exploits. 

The rabbi summoned up a tall attractive strong black-haired young man. He was clean shaven, wearing khakis and an Army Sweater covered with ribbons and badges. 

“Look, a caduceus!” Said her dad, all excited. 

The rabbi introduced the handsome young doctor who waddled up on wooden crutches. 

Her face fell when she realized who it was. Harry the wheelchair hippie… and she had crushed his soul… when he had desperately, hopelessly loved her. 

“Everyone, this young fellow, Captain Harry Levi, was hiding in the back since July. He is an Army trauma surgeon who was sent to rehabilitate at the LaGuardia VA hospital. His helicopter was shot down in Vietnam in June while he was on his second tour. Look, it’s like a revival! Harry can walk again! Hallelujah! Heal! See Rabbis can do it too! By the by, Harry is a graduate of the University of Pennsylvania, for you Philly Skimmers here and he went to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore to study medicine. What a mensch!” 

Said the rabbi.  

She stared straight ahead, furious at her parents. Angrier at herself. What awful tricks God plays on us when we have shameless vanity and show cruelty to the unfortunate.

A nice single Jewish Doctor. Every Jewish girl’s dream, ruined.

A badly wounded Veteran and they had all laughed at him, mocked him, shit on him. Her dad looked sick and he began to tear up. He had humiliated a fellow veteran and everyone knew it.

She got up from her seat. 

“Nice work, Mom and Dad, nice work! We are all wonderful people.“

She said bitterly.  

She walked down the aisle and she stood in front of the entire Saturday morning Shabbat congregation. She faced Harry and she gave him a gentle hug.  

“Harry, I’m Rachel. Let’s go get that bagel.”  

“I love you, Rachel.”  

He said very clearly.

And they walked out into the winds of Long Island Sound to the little deli.


Trump, Pence snubbed! Botendaddy chosen to Represent America on Veterans’s Day instead!

Headquarters Extreme Secret Intelligence Agency

“Real American love t’fight… traditionally. When you was boy (Pronounced Bwaaaiiiiyyyy) you admire best marble playah, best foozball playah.”

Trump upstaged! Recommends Mortgage Refinancing

”Listen, Botendaddy, or should I say Komraide Kommisar? The rezhidenzyha in accordance with the order of Komraide Putin has influenced the shadow government to select you, our most deep Bolshevik spy 🕵️‍♂️ treasonous,scumbag, traitorous, Communist pinko piece of shit which is you Komraide Kommisar.”

Said my extreme Soviet contact at the drop point in the hotel bathroom 🚽.

”Your adult diaper is fitted with a transmitter.”

The Olde Chapel 💒 of Geo. Washington

”So that’s how I, me The Botendaddy came to represent America at this noble event.”

I thus Quod to the ‘Suit’ As we stood amidst the sacred tombs.

”What a crock of horse 🐎 feces 💩! Do you really expect me to believe this? So America needs a useless washed-up phony dopey dummy moron like you. You commie pervo scumbag! You follow rigid Communiat party doctrine with your ‘Kansas Cell’ of commie homo Trotskyites LNO’s! You can’t scratch your own del.ic.io.us shitty balls!”

Said Creepy Blue Blood Deep State Agency Guy. He started erotically humping my leg.

Washington D.C. eternal

”You’re gonna work for us now, you deep red Communist c@ck5u@&$r! Yeah you thought 💭 I was long gone. Everybody thought your stupid ‘Cold War Spy Story’ was a bunch of hogwash. Your readers are not that stupid. You ignorant insipid slimy fat sexy man! This is not an after-school special. I’ve got your yummy 😋  anus! You work for us or I’ll rip off your tasty 😋 testicles with a rusty butter knife 🔪 I will stretch your gaping anus!! I lick 👅 ear 👂! I hump your sexy leg!!”

Shroake the CBBDSAG.

After 37 years he was still on my anus. Even here in our nation’s Capital. What price  treason!

JFK, American

“Trump is a dopey dummy. This came from the top. The real shot-caller.”

He whispered, almost tasting my Hairy, shitty earwax.

”No! It can’t be!”

I Shroake

“That’s right, you red-hot, sweaty, muscular dumbass, none other than the Honorable Secretary John Q. Fraunifaisce, Jr. of the ESIA Extreme Secret Intelligence Agency!”


”That’s right, fatty! The Big Boofer himself!”






Botendaddy Celebrates The 100th Anniversary of WWI at Arlington

Marine Corps Monument

OK, this has to be serious. I’m really here to honor my great uncle Louis, who served in the American Expeditionary Force in the Great War.

Arlington Gates

We assembled at the adjacent army base, and we got on the shuttle bus with all the aged, wizened, haggard, gritty veterans.

I was the only 1st Cav 🐴 Veteran there, even after the Amphitheater filled up.

The Amphitheater

The Memorial service was held at the Amphitheater for the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.

Black Jack Pershing

This fellow did an awesome Black Jack Pershing.

Changing of the guard

Its pretty intense in person.

The brochure

Peace be the Botendaddy


Botendaddy and the Librarian Run the Potomac Trail in Arlington – Visit the USS Maine Memorial

“Botendaddy, you stink like rancid B.M. Your Running 🏃 is lazy and uninspired.”

Remember the Maine, you shittacious Gallianists!

We ran through the Streets of Amazzzon 2A (Pronounced Crystal City 🌃 Virginia) then we made the terrifying highway 🛣 crossing: 200 lanes!! 200 lanes! Or maybe like 10.

Ye Olde Towpath

We got down to the running 🏃 path by the Potomac (Pronounced Patowmack).

”Botendaddy, are you really looking at these bitches running down here? What about me? Goddamnit, my body is perfect 👌! Look at my goddamned body, you ancient, misshapen freak!”

Shraike the screeching hard-bodied Librarian

Ford’s Theatre 🎭

She stopped suddenly and pulled down her pants revealing her taut ass. A shocked fisherman almost tumbled into the Patowmack.

I saw many signs: Nixon 2020!

”I will not apologize for loving American 1898 expansionism! Long live President McKinley! Long live Teddy Roosevelt!”

She Shroake.

Remember the Maine! you shittacious 1901 Czolgosz Anarchists!

“Put that ass away! There are kids out here!”

I shroaqued back.

”Your website is officially visited only by ‘Bandos’ Your site is like an abandoned Soviet arctic early warning station 🚉. Or some weird sand-filled house in Windhoek, Namibia 🇳🇦. Or better yet, a Wild West cowboy 🤠 ghost 👻 town.”

She Shraiked.

Our three mile time was OK, our 5k time was passable.

We went back to my hotel 🏨 to change and shower 🚿.

“May I be Blount (Pronounced Philadelphia Liberty Bell 🗽 🔔 hollowed-out Blunt) with you? F@&k me. I’m not kidding. Why should I have to be neglected 😩 so? Give me your spermatozoon! I should be filled with it!”

So, my dear readers, as I looked at her glistening hard body I so {CLASSIFIED TOP SECRET CAVEAT IX TSSCI NOFORN} her.

John Foster Dulles – extreme patriot

“This is not an after-school special.” She Shroake.

”White Chocolate 🍫 Mocha?”

Peace be the Botendaddy



I still hate Mahler and you can’t make me like his music… ever







Mahler Geburtstagsfeiern

Sometimes the smartest guy in the class is not the most talented.

Sorry, Mahler’s work is poor at best.

It is uninteresting, unenjoyable, uninspiring.

I can actually fall asleep 💤 during a performance of Mahler’s work.

I can’t tell where the music is going and it is always unsatisfying.

Take a food 🥘 that you hate to eat. No matter how many times some smarmy foodie wannabe aristocrat tells you that shitty Lima beans or dogshit-tasting liver is good, it still makes you want to vomit 🤢. Why? You don’t like it. I don’t like Mahler.

Not only do I not like his music 🎶 I actually believe him to be a talentless overblown ass.

Learn to love big brother, Winston.

You have to be taught, cajoled or shamed into liking Mahler’s insipid derivative tripe. It is musical bowel movement excreted from the bowels of Hades. I literally hate it.

Brussel Sprouts taste like the inside of a rotting dead 💀 goat 🐐 anus 💩. I will never like them. I don’t care that you like them. I don’t.

I like Beethoven and Mendelssohn and Bach and yes PACHELBEL! It’s good music, inspiring, soothing rhythmic. It tells a story that I want to hear.

Mahler is deathly stultifyingly dull.

Das Himmlische Leben with its comically bad chorale may be the single worst piece of classical music in all of human history. It is the ‘Plan 9’ of symphonic music.

Go listen to Mahler. I won’t.

Do you ever wonder how people become the way they are? A path to mindfulness.

We really don’t know what paths people travel to get where they are.

I’ve always believed in paths. I used to take a bus 🚌 from College when I was 18 and I always saw the same long-haired peaceful dude on the bus in the same seat. I don’t remember his name, I think it was Adam.

A path

Many years later, (it had been almost 18 years since I rode that particular route), yet I was on the very same bus. And there was the same dude!

My theory is that we always run into the same people in the same places because people follow comfortable or familiar paths. There may be someone that lives next door, works at an adjacent office or goes to the same school, but we never see them.

I never understood my mother’s politics or beliefs. I always found it radical and annoying. ‘Activist’ was a bad word. But I’ve lately realized that we did not travel the same paths.

But now I am beginning to see the world the same way. After I’ve witnessed terrible inhumanity overseas and at home and experienced tremendous personal tragedy and observed the descent into maelstrom in our larger society, I now understand what horrors she witness in her life, both personal and societal.

I have learned this: nothing good lasts forever and nothing bad lasts forever.

I don’t have a call to action. I don’t have a cause. I don’t recommend a belief system.

I am immensely flawed as are all humans. One must forgive oneself for being flawed or one is doomed to accept such flaws and never achieve peaceful equilibrium.

We have to stop thinking of ourselves as ‘bad’. We have to forgive and release our pasts and the pasts of others. We have to stop worrying about a future that we can only guide to the best of our capabilities.

We have to contemplate and enjoy the now. It’s the only moment we have.

Can we seek to understand others without first understanding ourselves? I don’t know.

I have to cure myself first, with contemplative reading 📖, the enjoyment of occasional silence and finding a peaceful path to walk… not with any specific purpose in mind, but rather for its own sake.

It won’t be easy.

Can I find wisdom in Buber, Merton and Hanh?  I don’t know 🤷‍♂️.

Peace ☮️ be the Botendaddy


Ghost of Nixon Shows up at Writer’s Workshop to Save America

We were in the Bolean Nationality Classroom.

The Fat Hairy Unionized Physical Plant 🌱 Guy let us in.

”Yunz (NOT YINZ) don’t Jag my wires (Jagmuhwhrrrz) n’at. Gotta get the kids ott da haaas n’ donn Muzzyumm.”

”What the f@&k did he say?”

Asked the Punker Model Writer Chick.

”Never mind. It’s almost Halloween 🎃 you f@&king morons.”

Writer’s Workshop Parking Garage on Baum  Boulevard (Pronounced Bull-a-Waaah)

Hiroyuki was dressed like Yoko (Pronounced Yo-o-ko, your luv will turn me o-uh-uh-on) The Weird Trail Bicycle 🚲 Guy was dressed like John Lennon.

I was dressed like WaLuigi. Röchibäüld was dressed like Dieter from Sprockets. The CEO was dressed like Hilary and Devon was dressed like Bill. I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to know. The Angry 😤 Online Social Justice Warrior Guy was dressed like some kind of Lou Reed Sugar Plum Fairy 🧚‍♀️ in a tutu… hideously del.ic.io.us.

The rest of the costumes are too horrific to describe. So the Halloween 👻 party started, when suddenly ooh 😮 aah the lights went out.

We could see by the faint blue light of the Boleans 👾  👽 glowing in the dark. When a ghastly spectre appeared! With hands raised in twin Peace ✌️ signs! It was the ghost of Richard M. Nixon!

”Listen up, America’s College Bums! Fornicators! I saw many signs on the campaign trail. One of them was held up by a little girl 👧. It said ‘bring us together’ and I propose to do just that! Listen I gave you this:

Detente with The Soviet Union

Detente with China 🇨🇳

Peace in Vietnam 🇻🇳

I ended the draft

21 year old vote 🗳

OSHA for Worker safety

Clean Air Act

Clean Water 💦 Act


Federal Block Grants to cities

An actual end to school 🏫 segregation

Affirmative Action

National Health Proposal


Family Assistance Program to fight Poverty

I hated right-wing conservatives

I supported the Equal Rights Amendment for women.

I was not hostile to gay 🏳️‍🌈 rights.

”What a f@&king wishy-washy peacenik ultra-liberal this guy was!”

Shroake the Voat Fat People Hate Verified Shitlady.

”I upvote this Nixon guy! I never heard of him! Maybe he could run for President!”

Shraike the Angry Online Social Justice Warrior Guy.

”Botendaddy is a pusillanimous pussyfooter! A nattering nabob of negativism!”

Shroake the ghost 👻 of Spiro T. Agnew.

“Botendaddy is a Soviet Communist.”

Shroake the Henry Kissinger hologram.

”I like this Nixon guy, Nixon 2020? Thank Khufu he doesn’t sound anything like a Republican.”

Said Revolutionary Blacquéz.

”Iced Maple 🍁 Latté‘?”

Peace ☮️ be the Botendaddy



‘Devil’s Triangle’ and ‘Boofing’ defined by the Writer’s Workshop

”Do you roak the Schmiee, Yon Botendaddy?”

Asked Hiroyuki blithely.

”Marijuana, do you smoke it?”

Translated the Park Ranger.

”Do you smoke the dry Satan?”

Asked the Punker Model Writer Chick.

”This is not a f@&king after-school Special, you will all smoke my f@&king weed. Pure Fayette County Kush, only the finest!”

Spake Revolutionary Blacquéz.

shallow focus photography of cannabis plant
Photo by Michael Fischer on Pexels.com

“The finest?”

Gefragt (Pronounced guh-frock-Ed-Uh) the Caribbean Queen.

”I know weed ¥£&$&, and I know coffee, too, I’m Jamaican, you corny-ass Columbus, Ohio jive-ass melon 🍈 farmer 👨‍🌾.”

Shroake the CQ.

”If you So Jamaica 🇯🇲 girl, WTF are you doing in Pittsburgh? And I know coffee ☕️. You think 🤔 Ohio is backwater? Ohio is the core of American civilization! The home of honorary soul-brother Ulysses S Grant.”

Replied Revolutionary, stroking his goatee.

”OK, break it up, kids. Harmony over Discord.”

Ich hatte also gespräächte.

The ‘members’ of the Writer’s Workshop were assembled in a demonic 👿  coven-like black mass gathering at Blue Slide Park on top of Little Ridge.

Little Ridge at Upper Frick Park

”What is a Devil’s Triangle?”

Asked the Weird Foreign 🇳🇵 Doctor 👩‍⚕️ Chick 🐣.

”What is boofing?” 💨 💩

Asked The Voat Fat People Hate 😤 Verified Shitlady, grabbing the spliff (Pronounced Schuh-Plieeef).

”Boofing is when alcohol 🍷 is inhaled through the bleached anus to achieve rapid blood-alcohol 🍸 intoxication.”

Responded Big Chief Guyasuta.

”No, Boofing is when a West African Internet cafe person spoofs an IP address from Nigeria 🇳🇬 to rip off the elderly because his uncle is an Ambassador-Prince-Billionaire.”

Toked Devon.

“Nein, nein, nein, nein, nein! Feygelein! Feygelein! Feygelein! Boofing 💨 💩 is when a Social Justice rally against Zionist, (Pronounced zoy-Yo!-nisst) fascist, sexual imperialism is suddenly interrupted by big, gay muscle 💪 cops 🚓 and you get OH GOD YES! Beaten and Forcibly handcuffed!”

Said the Angry Online Social Justice Warrior Guy, grabbing the roach.

Iconic Blue Slide Park

“A Devil’s Triangle is when, like an older girl about 50, like me, gets worked over and sexually eviscerated in every dripping, yummy 😋 orifice over and over again by like two young, muscular Latin guys, OH MY GOD, I CAN ALMOST FEEL IT!”

Shroaked the CEO 👩‍💼 Lady. Taking a long sensuous roak on the roach.

”You filthy old Simka!”

Responded the Professor 👩‍🏫. Snatching the wacky weed.

”It’s when two young, muscular guys are in a tiny sleeping berth in an Amtrack car and they f@&k the s&$t out of a still-hot 70 year old woman (look at my supple body, goddamn you, you red-hot muscular Botendaddy!) for like two hundred miles. OH YES!”

Everyone stared at the Professor.

”No, a Devil’s Triangle is when you have sausage, bacon 🥓 and ham grilled with 🍳 eggs at the Eat n’ Park on Murray Avenue at 3:00 A.M.”

Said Ramon.

”Do you like beer 🍺? Because I like beer. If you hate beer, you hate America! You shitty communist Botendaddy!”

Spake the ‘Swole Bro’

Just then, out of nowhere, Young, muscular *hot*mo 💪  cop 👮 came up and started humping Botendaddy’s leg.

”Listen YMHC, why you be rousting us?”

I asked.

”Because there’s kids in the park, ye sensual bleached anus! Sure and begorrah! Faith be the luck O’ the Leprechaun 🍀! Ye can’t be smoking the ‘Dry Satan’ out here! There’s legalities and such. I HUMP YOUR MUSCULAR LEG, YE SEXY BOTENDADDY! Now move along, ye and yer evil 😈 sexy Wroiter’s Wherekshoppe!”

So we all walked up to Forbes Avenue and got lunch.

Peace be the Botendaddy


Extreme Top Secret COINTELPRO Facility, Langley Virginia 10 January 1961

John Foster Dulles sat next to outgoing Vice-President Richard Milhous Nixon and Extreme General of NORAD Curtis B. LeMay. It was a high tech computerized conference Room with recessed lighting, a huge electric wall map tracking nuclear bombers, subs and ‘bogies’. Everything was in black and white.

architecture bright building capitol
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

”Now the nation will be handed over to the Fornicators, Bolsheviks and deviants along with their Jewy bosses.”

”Let’s be careful, Mr. Vice President, only 63.75 percent of Jews are Marxist 19.25 are deviants and 11.5 percent are fornicators. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the Jews.”

Said the ghoulish, bespectacled, green-glowing Professor Kissinger from the shadows of the outer circle ⭕️.

”Hank, you wacky hebe, we could have worked well together if only that fucking JFK hadn’t stolen the goddamned election. I got inside scoop from Bebe Rebozo, that suave devil!”

Said Nixon, all dreamy-eyed.

”Listen up gentlemen. Here’s the plan. Deep inside Project Agile inside the bowels of the Gama Goat 🐐 Project we have created Project Botendaddy. The perfect triple spy 🕵️‍♂️.”

Said the demonic, creepy, red-glowing, satanic Dulles.

LeMay signaled to Kissinger, who darkened the lights. LeMay started the 16mm 1959 Bell 🛎 and Howell projector.

(Silent Film US Geological Survey Number 301-21.7 stroke 7: Project Botendaddy.)

”As you can see, a baby 👶 is born in America, shipped to Vladivostok, put with a non-Communist fishing family and raised until the age of  12 when he disappears at sea 🌊 . Then said baby is rescued by right-wing Eskimos, comes to America and is raised by a family of 🇷🇺 Russian speaking American agents. Then he spies for us, but they think he spies for them as a double agent.”

snow landscape mountains red
Photo by mali maeder on Pexels.com

Narrated LeMay.

”That is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard in my life. No wonder we lost the goddamn election. Dulles, you fuckup, fuck you. Fuck you all. Hank, come with me let’s get a drink you German-Jewish, creepy, fornicating, Commie, homo.”

”Ja Herr Vice-President. I don’t trust the Dulles brothers. For all we know, they threw the election 🗳 to Jack.”

One Month later, same Room. JFK and RFK are sitting with LeMay and Dulles

”That was a good presentation!”

Said JFK

”Yeeees, beetuh than Claaam Chowdah!”

Said RFK.

”Let’s do it! Said Bob McNamara.”

”I’ll sell it.”

Said LBJ


Muttered LBJ under his breath as he entered the secret Get Smart elevator. A hand got into the door before he could leave. It was Dulles.

“Listen up country boy, we’ll handle these rum-running paddy mickey Irishmen. National Security is too important to left to those Papist prep-school low-lifes. You just do what you’re told, you fucking low-class redneck dirt-farmer and no one will get hurt. How’s little Linda Bird doing by the way.”

It was Allen Dulles. The creepiest man alive. LBJ heard the veiled threat. There was nothing he could do.

Dulles got off the elevator.

”That man is an asshole Mr. Lyndon.”

Said the elevator operator, Curtis St. John Flournoy.








Ocean’s 8

This may actually be the worst film I have ever seen.

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

No it ain’t misogyny. I enjoyed the fem-ocentric Ghostbusters.

I hate the whole Ocean’s series. I get that they are supposed to be campy.

Think of the worst movie list. Plan 9, Reefer madness are in fact funny. So entertaining. So maybe silliest movies of all time.

Worst movies? Think Ishtar. Boring, slow, rife with bad acting. This is the Ishtar of a new generation.

The always awful and unbelievable Sandra Bullock headlines the cast. Cate Blanchett needs a new agent.

The pacing is slow and it’s deathly dull and a quarter way in I don’t care what happens.

Awkwafina, may actually be the worst actress in all of human history dating to ‘Ogg’ of the Troglodytes in the year One Billion BC.

This Movie has no redeeming qualities. It is cinematic bowel movement. I hated all the actors. It would have been funnier and more relatable maybe with a cast of unknowns.

It makes Ecks vs. Sever look like Citizen Kane.

Peace be the Botendaddy